


The Long Way Round

by wallflow3r



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Zombie Apocalypse, Developing Relationship, F/M, Hitchhiking, Male-Female Friendship, Older Man/Younger Woman, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Daryl Dixon, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-11
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-22 02:59:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16589561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallflow3r/pseuds/wallflow3r
Summary: Feeling like her whole life is already mapped out, Beth is hitchhiking to Nashville to take a chance that could change everything. But when an aimless Daryl picks her up, her life might not be the only one she's changing.





	The Long Way Round

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first ever AU and I am really excited to share it with you guys!! It's not going to be long, I have four chapters planned and I have started them ALL. So, the following chapters should be finished and posted relatively quickly - yay! 
> 
> I'm trying out something new with this fic. I hope you like it! I'm really nervous and excited to hear what you think either way :)
> 
> Visit [my tumblr](https://neversleepingever.tumblr.com/) for pics and updates. Or just to say hi.
> 
> Thank you to SquishyCool for betaing and listening to all of my half formed thoughts <3

With a sigh, Daryl pulls a cigarette from the pack on the dashboard and pinches it between his lips. Taking one hand off the steering wheel, he digs for the lighter he hopes is in his shirt pocket.

The back of his neck is burning from a long day on the shitty construction job he's been working for the past month. A job where he gets paid peanuts for working his ass off until every one of his muscles ache, but they don't ask questions so it’ll have to do. It’s not like he’s got a whole lot of options having worked under the table his whole life. He didn’t graduate high school. He’s never even had a bank account. The only proof that Daryl Dixon exists on paper is his Georgia state driving license.  Those things didn’t seem to matter when he was running around with his brother. The kind of jobs Merle was interested in didn’t involve pieces of paper that weren’t green. The kind of jobs Merle was interested in were best suited for people who wouldn’t leave a paper trail; people who could disappear. But now Merle is gone, and for the first time in his life Daryl is trying to step out of the shadows and into the real world. The shadow his brother cast is a long one though, and he still finds himself walking in it.

Pulling the lighter from his pocket, he lights the end of his cigarette and takes a long drag, pulling the nicotine deep into his lungs and holding it there for a heartbeat. He exhales on a sigh, a little of the tension in his brow leaving with the smoke. It's Friday and Daryl’s just been paid, which means he's off to find a dive bar and drink until he can't remember his own name.

He's driving past a two bit town just outside of Atlanta when his eyes are drawn to something on the side of the road. Something turns out to be _someone_ ; a girl stood with a guitar slung over her shoulder, blonde hair and pale midriff reflecting in the late afternoon sun. When she sees him approaching, she quickly steps forward and stretches her arm out with her thumb unmistakably _up_.

_Shit._

Daryl’s lips press together in a tight line around his cigarette, brow furrowing. Despite the time of day there's no other traffic visible along the old country road, which is the exact reason he's taking it. There will be though, soon enough. _Probably_. His hands tighten on the steering wheel, sucking on his cigarette like a vacuum cleaner as he rolls closer. He doesn't want to stop, really _really_ doesn't want to, and yet his foot defies him as it presses down on the brake, bringing his truck to a slow halt.

The girl’s face splits into a gleaming smile as she rushes over.  

Daryl turns his head, squinting against the bright sunshine to watch as she pushes her round sunglasses up her forehead and peers into the cab.

He doesn't miss the way her eyes quickly take him in; from the bent cigarette hanging from his lips to the hard earned muscles displayed by his sleeveless threadbare shirt. There's sweat trickling down his forehead and sunburnt neck to his soaked back, the heavy scent of which she can no doubt smell from outside the cab.

He knows what he looks like. Knows what he _is_. He can imagine the thoughts going through her head right now so clearly he can almost hear them: at best what she sees is a dirty redneck, at worst some kind of seedy lowlife.

He waits for her face to twist in disgust, but it doesn't.

"Thanks f’ stoppin’," She beams, yanking the door open and climbing into the passenger seat. She shoves her guitar in the space behind, her movements hurried as though she’s worried he’ll drive off if she dawdles.  
  
Daryl grunts, his sharp eyes meeting piercing blue for a brief moment before flicking back to the road.

Pulling smoke into his lungs as the sound of her seat belt clicks in his ears, he presses down on the gas and the beat up truck groans as it pushes forward.

She doesn't tell him where she wants to go. He notices because it strikes him as odd, as though forward is enough for now. Just _away from here_. He doesn’t miss the palpable relief pouring from her lungs as she exhales heavily.

His eyes are drawn to her restless hands as she starts to clasp and unclasp them in her lap. There’s a sort of nervous energy coming off her, filling the truck and permeating his skin, causing his own hands to clench and unclench on the steering wheel. She doesn’t start yapping, which is what he’d half expected and fully dreaded - the main reason for his reluctance to stop. He hates small talk, and in confined spaces it has him ready to crawl out of his own skin. Instead she just turns her forehead into the glass and stares out of the window, eyes taking on a blank look as though she’s lost to a turbulent sea of thoughts.

While she’s distracted he lets himself really look at her, taking her in up close, his sideways glance drifting warily down her body.

Her hair is light blonde from the root to the tip, tied in a loose braid over her bare shoulder, clear skin pale but not sickly. Her brow is glistening with sweat and the smell of it quickly fills the cab, mixing with his, but it’s not unpleasant and Daryl doesn’t mind it. He feels a pang of guilt as he wonders how long she was waiting out in the heat. She’s wearing a crop top, skinny jeans and sandals. With the tiniest purse he's ever seen strung across her body she looks like she's headed to a party. So, why the fuck is she hitching a ride on the side of a deserted country road? Daryl’s mind snags on the inconsistency and quickly starts to pull on the thread. She only looks about fourteen, though he doesn't think she is from her clothes and the way she carries herself. But however old she is, and wherever the fuck she’s headed, she's definitely too young, and too _pretty_ , to be hitchhiking her way there that's for damn sure.

“Where y’ headed?” Daryl rumbles.

Pulled from her thoughts by his question, the girl starts so suddenly that Daryl almost flinches himself. She inhales sharply through her nose and blinks a few times before turning to face him. The biggest pair of blue eyes he’s ever seen meet his and stare back with startling focus. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt the full weight of another person’s attention directed solely at him so fully until now. He reels from the intensity of it, turning his head back to the road.

“Into town. Bus station,” She fills in after a moment. Her voice is bright with enough of a local lilt to tell him she grew up here.  

“Y’ not runnin’ away from home are ya?” He asks, giving her a wary sideways glance.

That prospect pulls his stomach into an uneasy knot. She's travelling light for a runaway, but all the same he doesn't want to give Officer Walsh an excuse to pull him over and haul him down to the station. Last time that prick caught him in a bar fight - _which Merle had started_ \- he nearly broke Daryl's nose.

Her smile widens, eyes dancing as a breathless laugh bursts from her parted lips.

“Nah,” She laughs with a little shake of her head, “Just headed to Nashville.”

Daryl nods, some relief settling into his chest as he fills it deeply with smoke.

“Wha’s in Nashville?” He feels compelled to ask for some unbeknownst reason.

Her eyebrows drift up towards her hairline as though she’s surprised he asked, and he finds he is too.

 “There's…” She starts, voice softer, quieter, and she hesitates as though unsure she wants to tell him, hands wringing in her lap, “There’s an Open Mic night tonight.”

She gives a little shrug and drops her gaze into her lap. Daryl’s eyes are drawn to her twisting fingers and then up to the tiny crease forming in her knitted brow.

“Wha’s that?” He asks.

Her gaze swings back up to his, brow smoothing out again in surprise, either that he doesn’t know or that he cares enough to ask.

“It’s where anyone can sing,” She explains, excitement brightening her voice and her eyes.

“An’ you're gonna,” He says, a statement, not a question.

Through the corner of his eye he can see her eyes bleeding blue as she stares at him intently again. It’s unnerving, the intensity of her gaze, and like the sun, he finds he can’t look directly at it.

“I am,” She says after a moment, her voice suddenly steeled with conviction it didn’t have a moment ago.

Daryl’s lips quirk, eyes narrowing into icy slits.

“So what, you think they’re gonna snap you up, give you a record deal or somethin’? Make all yer dreams come true?” He scoffs, mouth twisting into a smirk.

Blinking back at him slowly, Daryl’s smirk falters as the corners of her lips pull up into a wry smile. He realises he was only pushing for a reaction when he doesn't get one. She doesn't rise to the bait. Doesn't let him sour her mood. Doesn't even get pissy at him. If anything, she seems mildly amused. Her eyes are laughing at him as he feels the smirk slide from his stubbled jaw entirely.

“ _Maybe,_ ” She drawls, and he can hear the derision in her tone, that she’s clocked his needless antagonism, and doesn’t give two shits. Daryl swallows, watching with renewed interest as she turns her gaze back out of the window, eyes glazing over in a way that suggests she isn’t really seeing much of anything.  

 “I jus’ wanna sing,” She says, her voice drenched with a desperate, raw honesty that has his attention pulling dangerously from the road.

“When I'm old an' grey I wanna be able to say that _I went to Nashville_ an’ _I sang on that stage_ ,” She explains, mouth twisting into a crooked smile, “I jus’ wanna take my shot, y’know?”

She turns her head and when her eyes catch his they’re rippling with all the ferocity of the sea.

Daryl nods woodenly, forcing his attention back to the road again.

 _Shit._  
  
No, he doesn't know. He's never taken a shot at anything in his life, besides the occasional deer come hunting season.

Daryl can’t remember ever going after anything he wanted. Until recently, he’d always just followed his brother around, looking to him for what to do. Always living day by day, not thinking past the end of next week. He doesn’t think he's ever been brave enough to even want something more, something just for him, never mind have the balls to go after it. She isn't chicken shit, he'll give her that. For a moment he’s almost impressed.

_Almost._

Because it doesn't seem like she has any idea what the world is really like out there, away from her safe little corner of it. The world that Daryl is from would take her and her dreams of singing, chew them up and spit them back out. Maybe she's brave, or maybe she doesn't know any better. Maybe she just isn't all that used to not getting what she wants.

Daryl’s eyes flick over to her, forehead pressed against the window, and pulls on his cigarette, a bad taste filling his mouth as it burns down to the filter.

There's a fine line between being fearless and being reckless and she’s walking it. That line led her straight to his truck, and she hopped in with a sunny smile on her face. A face that tells him she wouldn't know danger if it walked right up and shook her lily-white hand. Wouldn't recognise it if it pulled over and offered her a ride. The thought suddenly makes him uneasy and that unease twists into irritation. He feels a flare of anger in his gut, hot and sharp and directed at her. For putting herself in this position. For putting them _both_ in this position.

He plucks the spent cigarette from his mouth and flicks it out of his open window.

"Shouldn't be gettin’ in cars with strangers, anythin’ could happen," He spits at the windshield, tightening his jaw and his grip on the steering wheel.

Didn't her parents ever teach her nothin'? Does he really have to be the one to tell this dumb bitch how not to get herself killed?

At his sudden outburst, she starts again, pulled from her thoughts, and swings her big blue eyes up to him in surprise.

She tilts her head back, fixing him with a challenging stare.

"Maybe that's what I'm countin’ on,” She says without blinking.  

Daryl glares at the road, jaw working. That pisses him off. He can't tell if she's messing with him or if it's some kind of teenage daring he doesn't want to get caught up in. He makes a point of looking her up and down before scoffing loudly, shaking his head.

If she's phased by the sudden burst of hostility she doesn't show it, just blinks slowly, as though blinking it away, and turns back to the window.

He gnaws on his bottom lip restlessly as he fights to keep his darting eyes on the empty road. His blood is up and making his heart beat too fast as it hurtles around his body.  
  
"I'm Beth, by the way.”

Her voice, soft and airy, stills his worrying teeth as it washes over him.     
  
His eyes flick over to her, _Beth_ , fingers tracing idle circles on the glass, then back to the road.  
  
"Daryl," he rumbles, his anger beginning to fade as rapidly as it arose.  
  
"I guess we're not strangers anymore," Beth shrugs, lips curling into a cheeky smile he can hear in her voice before he sees it.  
  
His gaze snaps back to her like a magnet and he turns his head to give her the full force of his glare.

“How do you know I ain't a serial killer or somethin’?” He growls.

Her lips twitch as though she’s trying not to laugh.  
  
“Are you?” She asks, tilting her head to the side, smile rounding her cheeks.  
  
“I might be,” He grumbles, reaching across the dashboard for another cigarette.

Her eyes track his hands as they pull a cigarette from the pack and bring it to his mouth. He has half a mind to offer her one, the way she's eyeballing his. He doesn’t. She can get her own damn cigarettes if she wants them when she gets out of his truck and out of his life.

“I'll take my chances with you, Daryl,” She says on a smile, intently watching the flames burst from his fingertips.

 _Girl_ , _would you_ look at me, he thinks, exasperation pouring out of him with his next laboured exhale.

But she already is. Pinning him in place with her intense blue stare, too intense and too permeating to belong to a damn _teenager_.

He hollows his cheeks around the cigarette, feels her attention drop to the blazing cherry as he inhales deeply. For a second his head pulses with the familiar buzz and his shot nerves tingle euphorically.

“Y're too trustin’,” He grumbles, blowing smoke out of one side of his mouth in the direction of his open window.

“Maybe,” She shrugs, eyes hovering on the cigarette dangling from his lips, “Maybe y’re not trustin’ enough. There are still good people in the world, Daryl.”

Her gaze flicks up from his mouth to meet his eyes and she holds them for a moment. Her head is tilting again, eyes boring into his with an open hopefulness that sets him on edge. Daryl never had the luxury of _hope_ , never had the security of _optimism_. Was too busy keeping an eye out for the next blow, because it hurts less when you know it’s coming. Now this girl is staring at him, hope pouring out of her like she’s got enough for the both of them. It baffles him and the uncertainty causes anger to wrap around him like barbed wire.  
  
"Listen here, _princess_ , you're gonna wind up dead, or _worse_ , if you keep hoppin’ in cars with strange men," He barks, accent growing thicker as his voice gets louder.

She stares at him for a moment and then, to his complete bewilderment, she smiles.  
  
"Well, when we get to Atlanta I'll be hoppin’ on a Greyhound bus full a folks so you don't hafta worry," She says calmly, almost soothingly.  
  
Daryl grunts, frowning deeply at the bonnet of his truck, feeling the heat of his anger dwindle even as he does so.  
  
"But thank you."  
  
Her soft voice pulls his eyes back to her, narrowing in confusion when they find her face filled with some kind of genuine gratitude.

"My mama always said worryin' is just people carin' too much," She says, answering his unasked question with a sad smile.

Something about her words and the quaver beneath her voice makes him feel uncomfortable. Tightening his jaw, he glares harder at the road. He feels exposed somehow, like he's been caught doing something he has no place doing. Where does this strange girl get off telling him he cares? Why the hell should he care if she gets herself into trouble? It'd be her own damn fault. And it’d have fuck all to do with him. She’s irritating as hell, telling him what he thinks like she knows him. And what’s really irritating, what’s making him feel like his skin has been peeled back leaving him exposed and raw, is that he knows she’s not _wrong._  
  
"You're real sweet.”

His wrestling thoughts are interrupted by her voice, and the smile he can hear in it so clearly that he doesn’t need to turn to see it.  

“For a serial killer that is."  
  
He can't help it, the corner of his mouth pulls up into a smirk and he huffs a laugh. His hands loosen on the steering wheel, no longer feeling quite so uncomfortable. He has a feeling this girl - _Beth –_ is the kind of person it's hard to feel uncomfortable around. While he feels on edge around most people, a consequence of growing up around a father with a short temper - and the apple sure as fuck didn’t fall far from that hanging tree - but he finds himself almost relaxing as his beat up truck hurtles towards Atlanta.

As the truck trundles on, he finds his mind and eyes drifting to the gift in the passenger seat. There’s something different about her. She isn't like most people, not the kind he finds himself in the company of anyhow. She's got an easy smile and an easy temperament, while still having the backbone to push back when pushed. He likes that. But he doesn't know her and he isn't looking to know her either. Something he finds himself needing to tell himself somewhat firmly.

They fall into an easy silence. Daryl lights another cigarette. The truck moves forward without speech; the only sound the rush of air streaming in through his open window. Daryl knows Beth is looking at him. He keeps looking straight ahead.  
  
Tries to focus on the road and not the smooth and creamy flash of midriff, the eyes blazing blue where they catch the sunlight, or the nimble dancing fingers tapping out a rhythm on the lip of the door. His eyes are like magnets and this girl is due north. She's nice to look at, sure, but it's not just that. Daryl can usually figure a person out pretty quick but this girl doesn't make a lick of sense. She’s sunny and warm, but with an edge of something else, something not so sunny that he can’t figure out.

He's so distracted with _not looking_ at the girl right next to him that he almost misses the turn into Atlanta entirely.  
  
After a handbrake turn that has Beth’s sharp gaze drilling holes into the side of his head, Daryl soon finds the bus station, tailing coaches surrounded by steam that makes the air around them tremble. Beth sits forward in her seat as the truck rolls to a stop and he kills the engine.

When he turns to her she’s busy staring out at the coaches and crowds in front of her. He sees a flash of trepidation cross her face before she swallows it down, taking a breath a little deeper than necessary, before turning to face him. As soon as their eyes meet she smiles and he feels his mouth twitch.

“Thanks for the ride,” She says, opening the door and hopping down onto the pavement.

Wordlessly, Daryl pulls her guitar case from behind the seat and slides it across to her. She wraps her hand around the handle and his lingers on the strap, eyes drifting up to meet hers.

She smiles a little wider when they connect.

“Be safe,” He grunts, taking his hand away and bringing it up to scratch his jaw.

“I will,” She nods, eyes crinkling into half-moons as she grins and shoulders her guitar. It looks heavy but she stands up straight like she doesn’t mind the weight of it.

The door squeaks as she pushes it closed and then raises her hand, fingers dancing as she gives him a little wave.

_Bye, Daryl._

He reads his name on her lips through the window before she turns and starts to walk away.   

Reaching blindly onto the dashboard for his cigarettes, his eyes track her retreating figure. He exhales sharply, starts digging in his front pocket for his lighter. Finds it and lights his cigarette, eyes still following her as she navigates her way to the ticket office. _To buy her ticket to Nashville. To take her shot._ He feels strangely like he’s become a footnote in her adventure, and it’s not a bad feeling. Maybe someday he’ll see her singing on the TV and he’ll be able to say that he gave her a ride once. The corner of his mouth slides up at the image.

With a long drag on his cigarette he starts the engine. He’s about to pull away when he sees something in her expression change. As the ticket attendant’s mouth moves the brightness fades from her eyes and her face crumples. Even from this distance it’s unmissable, like watching a candle being snuffed out. At first it flickers, fighting to keep burning, and then it’s gone. Her eyes take on a hollow look as the woman behind the booth gives her an apologetic smile.

Daryl frowns, worrying his cigarette between his fingers.

 _Not your problem,_ he reminds himself as his stomach twists.

Stepping away from the ticket office, Beth looks around with a visible sigh.  She turns back to the road and starts to walk, her shoulders unmistakably slumped. When her eyes fall on him she stops.

As their eyes connect he watches relief smooth her brow. He doesn't think he can recall a time where anyone has ever looked relieved to see him before. It gives him a strange feeling in his chest. The feeling grows rapidly as she starts to move, making a beeline for his truck. He reaches over and winds down the passenger window as she comes to a stop in front of it.

“Y’alright?” He asks, looking at her through his hair as he leans over the centre console.

“The bus I was supposed to catch broke down,” She explains with a sigh, eyes round with disbelief and lips pulled into a tight line, “There isn't another one that goes to Nashville for _two hours_.”

Her voice has lost its abundance of hopefulness, and he finds he likes that even less.

“Shit… want me to take you home?” He offers before he can stop himself.

 _Not. Your. Problem._ His mind is screaming but he isn’t listening.

She draws in her bottom lip and holds his gaze for a moment, as though finding the nerve she needs to push out the words that are trapped behind her teeth. As the moment stretches he starts to feel his own nerves jumping beneath his skin.

“Spit it out,” He barks, a little harsher than he means to.

“I want you to take me to Nashville,” She blurts out in a rush.

There’s a beat as she stares at him and he stares right back at her.

“Huh?” He grunts, scrunching his face in confusion.

She sucks in a sharp breath, eyes growing impossibly wide, “I'll pay you. I'll pay you a hundred bucks an' I'll pay for gas.”

“You're serious?” He deadpans, but from the newly hope-filled expression she’s wearing he already knows she is.

“ _Yes._ Please, Daryl. I've come this far. I don't wanna turn back,” She pleads, hands curling around the straps of her guitar case as her teeth find her bottom lip again.

He sighs, taking a long drag on his cigarette until his lungs ache. He doesn’t want to get involved, he really _really_ doesn’t want to, and yet his mouth defies him as a question escapes his lips, and when it does that’s when he knows he’s well and truly, monumentally fucked.

“How old’re you?” He asks, narrowing his eyes at her.

Her mouth falls open and she frowns at him defiantly, “Old enough.”

_For what?_

His brow creases as he holds her gaze.

She huffs out a tired exhale, “I'm eighteen.”

Daryl’s mouth twists around his cigarette, eyes locked together, her persistent blue gaze unwavering.

“Alright,” he rumbles, reaching over and opening the passenger door, “You best not be lyin’ to me, girl.”

Beth's entire face lights up, mouth splitting into the biggest smile he’s ever seen.

“Oh, _thank you thank you thank you!”_ She beams as she clambers up into the truck.

“Mmhmm, don't make me regret it,” Daryl warns, trying and failing to ignore her triumphant eyes as he pulls away from the curb.


End file.
